


Singularities

by hanap, hollow-head (laideur)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff and Smut, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Wing Kink, ducks and stars and flowers, it's all very soft, playful cavorting in a spring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanap/pseuds/hanap, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laideur/pseuds/hollow-head
Summary: “Well, since you’re here, shall I show you around?”Aziraphale blinks, confused. “Show me around where?”“Here, obviously.” Crowley gestures expansively at the waterfall and the spring. “Not bad, this place. I’ve been here a while. Lots to see.” He hesitates for a moment. “If you like.”[In which Aziraphale is sent to bless a spring on a remote island and finds Crowley there instead.]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 130
Collections: Apple-bottom Jorts, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fic inspired by [hollow-head](https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/)'s art, written for the Reverse Big Bang on the Do It With Style Events Discord server!

There is a story the humans tell.

They call this island the sanctuary of the great gods.

They say the god of the waters himself sits at the peak of the mountain, keeping watch as battles rage, as ships sail, as voyages end. He strides through the woods and springs, clothed in moonlight, his eyes glowing like molten gold in the darkness. Silent though his steps may be, the very rocks tremble under his feet.

It’s nothing but a fanciful tale spun by the humans, but it’s pretty enough that it’s caught Heaven’s eye.

That’s what happens, isn’t it, when something is too perfect? The gods come down, bearing their wrath on those who dare to think they can create something more beautiful than what is divinely ordained.

But that, too, is only a story.

The reality is that Aziraphale is trudging through the woods in the dead of night, not even daring to spare a miracle to transport himself to the centre of the island for fear that he’d receive another sternly written note from Gabriel. Even as he trips on a loose pebble, he has to wonder – would it be too much of a risk to stretch his wings a little? It’s been so long, and certainly an assignment of this magnitude would require a little more angelic intervention than normal. Surely Heaven wouldn’t take notice?

Is anyone watching?

Aziraphale exhales and pulls his wings from the aether. The immediate relief is indescribable. Muscles he hasn’t flexed in _millennia_ – he’s almost forgotten how it feels to even _have_ wings.

He can name it now. Phantom pain. The agony of presence manifesting as absence. He really needs to stretch his wings more often than he does.

The path to the spring is lit by the soft glow of his feathers. As always, Heaven had only given him a memo so brief he couldn’t have possibly gathered any more meaning from it if he tried.

_Bless the spring._

Nothing else beyond that. So here he is.

A swaying curtain of leaves and blossoms parts under Aziraphale’s hand as he reaches the end of the path, and he sees the unmistakable glimmer of moonlight on the surface of the water, the gurgling sound of the waterfall clear as a bell. The thrum of energy here is obvious now, and he raises his wings, stretching them to their full length. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, allows his Grace to surge through them.

When Aziraphale opens his eyes, by the bright glow of his wings he sees that the waterfall ends at a large spring, its waters spilling over into several smaller pools around it. The moonlight catches on the reflection of the water like facets of a gem. He sucks in a breath of surprise, and just then, a movement at the edge of one pool catches his eye.

Even with his own light illuminating his surroundings, for a moment he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. A figure standing in the water, framed by wings so dark Aziraphale wouldn’t have noticed them if not for the slight flutter they made. A luxurious mane of curls cascades down one shoulder, long enough to touch the surface of the water.

Aziraphale nearly forgets how to breathe, and the glow from his wings shines even brighter in the darkness. His mind is flooding with images and words faster than he can clearly think – a winged image of a god the humans called _Nike,_ standing tall and proud in a temple, the tales of a divine being in the spring clothed in nothing but long, flowing hair, and of yet another god who heralded the coming of the night and all its stars. All the legends of the island unfolding before Aziraphale’s eyes, and he thinks rather deliriously that he understands just how the humans might have imagined they had seen a god bathing in the water, as vaguely sacrilegious as it might sound.

Somewhere in the cacophony of his confusion, he hears a voice.

“Aziraphale? Is that you?”

“Mind turning it down a little?”

There’s a blinding flash of realisation.

“Oh. Oh, dear. Is that you over there, Crowley?”

A derisive snort is what makes Aziraphale certain. “Look, angel, it’s been thousands of years. If you still don’t recognise me by now –”

“I did, of course I did,” Aziraphale protests immediately. “I just…” He isn’t quite sure how he was intending to end the sentence. “I just wanted to make sure,” he ends lamely. He tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding in his chest. He’s run into Crowley so many times over the years, but never like this. Every time he sees Crowley, he never fails to surprise. Quite literally, on occasion.

But this time is different. Something about this time feels like a revelation, and not just because Crowley is… is _unclothed,_ for Heaven’s sake. Aziraphale keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on Crowley’s face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on an assignment. There’s been some, erm, suspicious activity going on around this island,” Aziraphale explains. He wrings his hands. How is he supposed to explain this to Crowley?

“An assignment,” Crowley repeats.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, before adding rather breathlessly, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Wasn’t expecting you either, believe me.” Crowley shrugs and smiles at Aziraphale. “Well, since you’re here, shall I show you around?”

Aziraphale blinks, confused. “Show me around where?”

“Here, obviously.” Crowley gestures expansively at the waterfall and the spring. “S’not bad, this place. I’ve been here a while. Lots to see.” He hesitates for a moment. “If you like.”

Aziraphale’s certainly found himself in a pinch now. When Crowley extends a hand to Aziraphale, he wavers, not knowing what to do.

“Come on,” Crowley says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Not that my word would mean much to an angel, but I swear nothing’s going to happen. You’re just going to take a quick look around, then you’ll be heading right back to the village to write up your report. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale. “How’s that sound?”

Something about the night has taken on a distinctively dreamlike quality. Some details are sharper than others. The glimmer of the moon’s reflection in the sprint. The lilies’ fragrance lightly scenting the air, filling Aziraphale’s lungs with every inhale.

Other details are more muted. The initial shock wanes, leaving only wonder in its place. The rolling splash of the waterfall fades into the background, taking all of Aziraphale’s anxiety along with it. Somehow, he’s forgotten to be worried about Heaven watching. His mind is too preoccupied by the sight of Crowley in the spring, all damp curls and golden eyes and delicate pale skin.

So Aziraphale nods and toes off his sandals. He takes Crowley’s hand and gingerly steps into the spring. Crowley’s fingers are warm and soft, clutching his hand gently. He’s so focused on the sensation of their skin touching that he’s knee-deep in the water before he even notices that the hem of his toga is soaked through.

“Oh, dear,” he murmurs to himself, and the next step he takes has him on the surface of the spring, just as if he were walking on dry land. Crowley looks over his shoulder and sees Aziraphale standing on the water’s surface.

“What are you _doing?_ ”

“No, it’s just – my toga,” Aziraphale explains helplessly, gesturing at the hem around his ankles.

Crowley starts to laugh, and he lets go of Aziraphale’s hand to swim deeper into the spring – Aziraphale resolutely ignores the flare of disappointment at the loss of his touch. Crowley treads water, looking up at Aziraphale with a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Come on. You’re not going to see much of anything from over there, you know.”

The golden eyes stay fixed on him unblinkingly for the span of a breath before Crowley sinks into the water and disappears from sight.

Aziraphale takes a few steps forward, the water lapping at his feet. He’s momentarily distracted by the ripples distorting the reflection of the moon on the surface, but when he looks up, Crowley’s still nowhere to be seen.

He is standing alone in the middle of a spring, and everything around him seems to have gone still, as though the whole world is holding its breath. Aziraphale knows that time hasn’t actually stopped, but only because the cascade of the waterfall is reverberating in his ears again, loud and unrelenting.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says hesitantly, his eyes sweeping the surroundings, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. The night is perfectly calm but for the endless rolling waterfall, the faint breeze rustling through the leaves, the singing of the cicadas.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tries again, a little louder this time, his fingers tangling nervously in the finely spun cloth of his toga, pulling his wings in closer to his body.

He hasn’t moved from where he stands, but for some reason, the water is rippling around his feet. He looks down, brow furrowing in confusion, when suddenly, slim fingers suddenly close around his ankle and pull him right into the water.

\--

Crowley resurfaces with an arm wrapped securely around the angel’s waist. Aziraphale’s spluttering and gasping for breath, his arms tight around Crowley’s shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, laughing. “You’re all right. Just breathe.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale wheezes out, still coughing. “ _Why_ did you do that?”

“Needed to get you in the water.” Crowley grins mischievously and snaps his fingers to miracle Aziraphale’s airway clear. He takes a long, shuddering breath that vibrates against Crowley’s chest, pressed together as they are, the delicate material of the angel’s toga clinging to Crowley like a second skin.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale sighs, pulling away from Crowley slightly. “That was entirely unnecessary –”

“Sure it was,” Crowley agrees. A tiny lily pad has gotten caught in the halo of white-blonde curls plastered against Aziraphale’s head. He looks so ludicrously adorable that Crowley has to smile. “But was it _fun?_ Absolutely. Think of it as a baptism.”

“Don’t blaspheme. What if I’d decided to smite you?” Aziraphale demands, wiping at his streaming eyes.

“But you didn’t,” Crowley reminds him. “Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly give you a reason to?”

Aziraphale elects to ignore this comment. “Oh, you wily old serpent. My wings are soaked.” He lifts them out of the water, still softly glowing, and ruffles his feathers to shake the water from his wings. Crowley thinks for a moment that Aziraphale resembles nothing so much as an outraged bird with the way his feathers are fluffed up indignantly.

“Oi, stop that. They’re going to be wet again anyway, what’s the point?”

Crowley lets go of Aziraphale, who immediately clutches at him with a cry of dismay as he begins sinking into the water, his wings flapping helplessly and sending water flying everywhere. Crowley blinks away the drops that splash into his eyes and pulls Aziraphale to him again, still unable to hold back his amusement at the angel flailing rather ridiculously in his arms. “Aziraphale, calm down. You’re acting like you’ve never been in the water before.”

Aziraphale glares at him. “Not with my wings out!”

“They’ll be _fine,_ I promise. Getting them wet isn’t going to hurt them.” Crowley tugs Aziraphale’s hands loose from his shoulders, grasping him firmly by the elbows. “Just tread water like you normally would. And don’t hold your wings hunched up like that, just relax and let them sink into the water.”

Aziraphale bites his lip and obeys, holding onto Crowley tightly as he tries to figure out how to manage the cumbersome weight of his wings. Crowley waits patiently until at last, Aziraphale’s comfortable enough to relax his iron grip.

“There you go,” Crowley says with satisfaction at the look of growing delight on Aziraphale’s face. “S’nice, isn’t it?”

\--

“Well, it isn’t as bad as I’d imagined,” Aziraphale admits. The water is warmer than he thought it would be, and now that he’s grown accustomed to the sensation of having his wings submerged, it really is quite lovely. Not that he would tell Crowley that after the dunking he’s just been subjected to.

But Crowley only grins knowingly, as though he can hear just what Aziraphale is thinking. “Come on, then. The night isn’t getting any younger.” He lets go of Aziraphale and swims toward the opposite bank, his arms propelling him smoothly through the water. Aziraphale, meanwhile, is left behind, paddling slowly after him – Crowley’s several metres away by the time he notices.

“Any day now, Aziraphale.”

“You go _too fast,”_ Aziraphale answers tartly, unused to having to handle an extra set of limbs while in the water. Not to mention having to contend with the lily pads and the weight of his waterlogged toga.

Crowley relents, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand and lacing their fingers tightly together. “What would you do without me?” He sighs so dramatically that one would imagine Aziraphale had done him an enormous inconvenience.

“Certainly not swimming in the middle of the night, for one thing.”

“Sounds terribly boring,” Crowley says, throwing Aziraphale a sly glance over his shoulder.

“I don’t suppose what you’re doing here is any more interesting.” Aziraphale realises with surprise that for all Crowley’s build is so slender, he’s much stronger than he looks. He pulls Aziraphale along effortlessly through the water, his movements smooth and sinuous.

“You haven’t even seen anything yet,” Crowley retorts, but he’s grinning – Aziraphale can’t help but smile back.

Soon, Aziraphale can feel the silt and gravel under his toes again, and Crowley helps him out of the water. He ruffles his wings dry with ease, and Aziraphale tries to do the same, although with a great deal less grace. He surveys his ruined toga ruefully, but he forgets about it entirely the moment Crowley snaps his fingers.

A faint glow illuminates the darkness, coating everything around them with a silvery sheen like moonlight. Aziraphale’s eyes widen as he takes in the gorgeous array of plants concealed on this side of the spring, the variety of scents perfuming the air with a heady fragrance.

“Oh, Crowley,” he murmurs. Somehow, in the strange dream world he’s found himself in on this island, anything could be possible. There is a story waiting to unfold, if he is willing to see it through. “Is this your garden?”

\--

A flood of stuttered consonants spills from Crowley’s lips. “S’not a _garden,_ ” he says, when he’s finally recovered enough to string a few coherent words together. “Not exactly. It’s just part of the whole thing, to make the humans think this place is enchanted. A place where their gods come down to Earth, and all that.”

Aziraphale hums, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded there.”

Crowley tries not to think too hard about the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t let go of his hand. “Do you… maybe want to look around?” Now that they’re here, he’s feeling unaccountably _shy,_ of all things, and it’s not an emotion he’s ever had much cause to feel before, not with anyone but Aziraphale.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale says, beaming. He squeezes Crowley’s fingers, which has the effect of squeezing Crowley’s chest along with it. “I’d be delighted.”

If Crowley’s grin wobbles a little bit, he sincerely hopes Aziraphale doesn’t notice. “Erm, right.” He tugs Aziraphale along, narrowly avoiding tripping over a loose rock in his hurry. “So you’ve got your asters over here,” he says, waving at the enormous clumps of flowers dotting the ground, cheerful-looking things crowned with row after row of delicate petals. “Come in lots of colours, those ones, though you can’t see them very well right now.”

“Like stars,” Aziraphale says with honest delight. “They’re lovely.”

Gratified, Crowley goes on. “Heliotrope on that end, but you won’t see them now that the sun isn’t out… And some nasturtiums over there.” He points at the bushes crowding around one tree, blossoms with petals spread wide, drooping slightly on their stems with their weight. “Wish you could have seen them in the day. Red and orange and yellow, like fire.”

Aziraphale makes appreciative noises as they walk on, but Crowley realises after a few minutes that the hand in his is trembling minutely. He looks around to see Aziraphale shivering in his damp toga, his wings still bedraggled and tucked in close around him.

“Oh,” he says, dismayed. “Why didn’t you just do a miracle to dry yourself properly?”

“I, erm…” Aziraphale’s gaze darts away from Crowley. “Heaven doesn’t like too many miracles, you see.”

Crowley groans, and with a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale’s toga is clean and dry once more – he makes sure to throw an extra bit of warmth in there for good measure.

“Thank you,” the angel says with a sigh of relief, his wings fluttering.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley mutters, and a flash of anger flares in him to think that Aziraphale wouldn’t even dare to do such a simple miracle. “I mean it. Don’t.”

“All right, I won’t. But I’m grateful all the same.” Aziraphale’s fingers tighten around his. A strange sort of warmth floods Crowley at the way the angel beams at him, and a small smile quirks at the corner of his lips in return.

“There’s something else I want to show you,” Crowley says before he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “But you’ve got to be quiet.”

\--

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley launches himself into the air, his wings beating gently. He holds himself aloft, tugging at Aziraphale’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“I said we have to be quiet,” Crowley repeats. “Your footsteps will be too loud.”

Aziraphale resents this remark. “I can be _stealthy_ when I want to be.”

“Sure you can,” Crowley says, smirking. “But I mean it this time, we can’t startle them.”

This piques Aziraphale’s curiosity. “Startle _who?_ ”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “The sooner you get up here, the sooner I can show you.”

“Oh, but…” Heaven frowns upon flying on Earth these days – it had been permissible when they had still been in the Garden, but not since then. He _really_ doesn’t want another stern talking-to from Gabriel.

“Hey, none of that,” Crowley says. He leans down and touches Aziraphale’s forehead, gently smoothing away the crease between his eyebrows. Aziraphale’s too startled to do anything more than stare at Crowley in surprise. “We won’t be flying far, and this is as high as we’ll go.” His lips curve up into a teasing smile. “But if you really don’t want to, I can carry you, if you like.” 

“I suppose it should be all right,” Aziraphale says cautiously, too preoccupied for much banter.

It’s a little strange now to beat his wings hard enough to lift his feet off the ground after so many thousands of years of being earthbound, but something about it fills him with relief, to finally stretch muscles that had lain dormant for so long. He can’t help the soft exhale that escapes his lips – he’s almost forgotten just how it feels to fly.

He looks at Crowley, who’s watching him with a gratified look on his face. “Alright, then?”

Aziraphale nods, pressing his lips together, trying not to show how pleased he feels. “Where are we going?”

Crowley tugs him in the direction of the smaller pools of water adjacent to the spring. His fingers skim the surface of the water as they pass, leaving a trail of ripples in their wake, before at last he alights on a small patch of land. Aziraphale follows suit, landing quietly next to Crowley. A large tuft of narcissus sits in the middle, its flowers bent over the water, leaves swaying softly in the breeze.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, who presses a finger to his lips. He lets go of Aziraphale’s hand and pads silently to the flowers, looking at them closely before motioning to Aziraphale. As he steps forward, Crowley bends and gently lifts the blossoms, parting them carefully. Aziraphale leans over and Crowley pushes the leaves aside to reveal a nest of ducks, the mother shielding her ducklings under her feathers, all of them fast asleep.

_Oh._

Aziraphale’s gaze lifts to Crowley’s face, and there’s a strange sensation in his chest to see how Crowley is looking at the sleeping ducks with something that seems very much like affection. For a moment, Aziraphale has an absurd desire to tuck a long red curl back in place behind Crowley’s ear when he bends to lower the flowers carefully into place, hiding the ducks from view once more.

Crowley looks up and catches him staring, and Aziraphale doesn’t know what Crowley sees on his face, but even in the faint silvery light he can tell that Crowley is blushing.

\--

Why was the angel looking at him like that? Crowley ducks his head, inexplicably bashful under Aziraphale’s gaze.

“My dear,” Aziraphale breathes, his voice dropping low in a way that makes Crowley’s heart stutter. “That was…”

“I, er –” Crowley casts about wildly for something to say, and his gaze falls on the reflection of the moon on the water. “Oh, I’ve got something else to show you.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand and leads him back in the direction of one of the shallower pools.

“What is it?” Aziraphale’s hand closes around his willingly now, and together they pad softly through the moss, but the angel hesitates at the bank, his toes just barely skimming the water.

“Something wrong?” Crowley looks at Aziraphale over his shoulder when he stops, brow furrowing in confusion.

Aziraphale is eyeing the water with something like suspicion in his blue eyes. “I don’t know…”

Crowley’s gaze trails down to Aziraphale’s other hand, plucking nervously at the hem of his toga, and he sighs. He’s never known the angel to be anything less than fastidious about his clothing. “Come on. If you’re so worried about your toga, leave them here. I’ll get them for you later. I won’t let them get dirty, I promise.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale says, brightening. He begins pulling at the knots that hold his toga in place, but for some reason, his eyelashes are fluttering nervously against his cheeks. “Turn around for a moment, won’t you?”

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Crowley says, exasperated. “Standard-issue human corporation. Nothing that I haven’t seen –” And then it dawns on him just why Aziraphale is being so oddly furtive. “Hang on… did you make an _Effort?_ ”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale says haughtily, but he turns his back to Crowley as the toga slips from his shoulders. For some reason, Crowley’s feeling very warm as he obligingly turns around and watches the half-moon’s reflection distorted by the ripples of the water.

\--

Aziraphale steps out of his clothes, folding the fabric gently and laying it on top of a boulder. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling so embarrassed. He and Crowley have certainly seen each other naked before, and he knows Crowley is right, these corporations are very much standard-issue – and yet he feels strange about revealing that he’s made an Effort. As though it makes him less of an angel than what is expected of him.

Or maybe he’s only feeling particularly self-conscious about it because Crowley himself is smooth and featureless between his legs at the moment.

“S’all right, you know.” Crowley’s voice is surprisingly gentle, and Aziraphale looks hesitantly over his shoulder to meet the golden gaze. “We’re just going for a bit of a swim, just like we did earlier. Only this time, we’re not spoiling your clothes.”

That brings a small smile to Aziraphale’s face. “And this time, I’m getting into the water of my own choice, thank you very much.” Truth be told, he didn’t really mind getting his toga ruined at all, but right now, he doesn’t want to think about why that is. “The water’s too shallow to swim,” he says instead.

“We’re not going swimming right now,” Crowley says, laughing. “I told you I want to show you something first.” He twines their fingers together and leads Aziraphale into the water. He had guessed right – though the pool is sprawling, the water doesn’t go much higher than his hips at its deepest. He follows Crowley as he guides them to the very centre, the ripples trailing along behind them.

Aziraphale wonders at why he doesn’t find it strange, how quickly they’ve slipped into this small intimacy of touch. It feels almost natural for Crowley to reach for his hand, the gesture as easy as breathing.

Crowley turns toward him, his eyes lighting up. “All right, you ready?”

It takes a moment for Aziraphale to answer, distracted as he is. “Ready for what?”

He can’t help but smile, seeing Crowley’s infectious enthusiasm – his golden eyes are bright with excitement and he’s bouncing just the slightest bit on the balls of his feet.

“Just watch.” 

He holds his outstretched hands flat over the surface of the water, and as Aziraphale watches, the pool slowly begins to darken until it turns into a flat, inky black. The water is completely silent under Crowley’s palms, smooth as glass, and completely fathomless.

For a second, Aziraphale feels as though he’s looking into the very depths of the earth, an enormous pocket of gloom that has never been touched by light. A vague sensation of panic is stirring in him as they stand in what appears to be a void so absolute that he can no longer even see their bodies from the waist down. He looks up at Crowley quickly, but his eyes are focused entirely on his hands, preternaturally still over the water.

Crowley takes a deep breath, his brow furrowing in concentration as out of the darkness, a tiny glow begins to form under his hands. Slowly it blossoms into being, growing larger and larger until suddenly the entire pool of water explodes into a blaze of light. The brightness recedes, leaving behind tiny pinpricks of light dotting the surface everywhere.

The long fingers swirl delicately an inch above the water, agitating the light particles as they follow the movement of his hands, coalescing into a softly glowing sphere. Its radiance casts an astounding blend of colours into relief around it, illuminating what had once been darkness – violets and blues, pinks and oranges, all blending seamlessly into one another. Crowley curls his hand upwards at the wrist and moves the sphere to one side before gathering a new handful of light motes to him with a sweep of his arm and starting anew.

 _Stars._ Aziraphale’s eyes widen in recognition, a soft exhale escaping through his parted lips. That is what Crowley is showing him – the universe in its infancy, the celestial bodies being birthed, and here surrounding them on every side is the light of all the stars before they were stars, drifting like a bright mist in the great expanse. Everything already there, but not yet constrained by shape or form. Not until they are sculpted into being by Crowley’s hands.

What a marvel this is to Aziraphale. Soldiers such as himself aren’t given the opportunity to participate in the act of Creation. He has never even witnessed it first-hand. Certainly, he’s heard the stories, but nothing compares to this, watching a microcosm of the cosmos unfolding before his eyes. The masterful work of Crowley’s hands, each star and nebula carefully hung in the sky.

But as astonishing as the sight of it is, Aziraphale’s gaze moves up to Crowley’s face, fierce and intent in his concentration. Streaks of light from the stars in the water etch his features in sharp lines and shadows, the long mane of his hair tossed carelessly over one shoulder drying into soft dark curls framing his face.

Seeing Crowley like this, Aziraphale can envision him as the angel he used to be, magnificent and powerful and gifted at his craft. Somehow, Aziraphale's not at all startled to find that none of Crowley’s splendour has been diminished by his Fall at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gravitational singularity is a point in which all physical laws are indistinguishable from one another, where space and time are no longer interrelated realities, but merge indistinguishably and cease to have any independent meaning.
> 
> Thank you to [RainingPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince) for beta-ing this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s too much, all this talking business. Crowley doesn’t have words for the things Aziraphale is asking for, but he desperately wants to say something – an indistinct noise escapes his throat. Aziraphale touches Crowley’s lips gently with the pad of a finger, as though sensing his distress. “It’s all right, dearest,” he says softly. “Just let me see to you now, and you can tell me if there’s anything you don’t like. Will that do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We earn our M rating this chapter!

The last star in the water is moved gently into its place, and Crowley exhales, blinking as he comes out of his reverie. A rueful smile creeps up unbidden on his face. He’d Fall again before he admits it, but this is the one thing he misses from Before. His fingers dip lightly into the shimmering water, admiring his own handiwork. This was what he had first been made to do, and this little show of lights is just a pale reflection of what he had once been capable of. Sometimes, he can still feel the ache for it reverberating in his bones.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says. Something of what he’s feeling must have crept into his face, because the angel takes his hand.

“What is it, dear boy?”

Crowley only stutters a little this time at the endearment. “Fly a little higher with me this time. So you can see it from above.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, and Crowley can already see his brows knitting together, his eyes darting upwards.

“Only if you want,” Crowley adds quickly. The last thing he wants is for the angel to start worrying about Heaven and their rules right at this moment.

But to his surprise, Aziraphale’s grip tightens around his hand. “I should very much like to see it.” And this time, it’s the angel who takes off into the air first, and Crowley laughs with delight as he’s tugged along. There’s nothing like the sheer joy of flying, the rush of the wind against his face, the air cool against his damp skin. It only takes a few powerful strokes of their wings until they’ve risen higher than the treetops.

\--

There is certainly _something_ about this place, Aziraphale thinks to himself, as he and Crowley hover in mid-air. It’s almost as though the whole island is caught in a bubble, suspended in time, an endless evening of moon and stars and their reflections caught in the rippling stillness of the water.

Somehow, he’s no longer frightened about being seen. Here in this in-between pocket of time and space, there is no one else in the world but himself and Crowley.

He lets Crowley twine their fingers together, and he smiles back when he sees Crowley laughing, the moonlight catching on the sharp features of his face and softening them. Aziraphale is struck by him every time, no matter how many times they see each other, how many years have passed, how many years _will_ pass – he will never tire of looking at Crowley and how lovely he is.

“Look, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, tugging insistently on his hand and pointing down at the spring. He looks down and sees the water spread out beneath them, gleaming with stardust and light. “Do you recognise this constellation?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen when he realises that Crowley has mapped out a pattern of stars in the water. He thinks hard for a few moments, trying to figure out which one it is –

_Oh._

“Ophiuchus,” he says triumphantly. “This is Serpens Caput,” he says, tracing over the stars with a finger. A serpent wrapped around the body of a man-shaped being. “And Serpens Cauda,” he adds, gesturing at the stars that formed the rest of the snake’s coils.

“Exactly right,” Crowley says, grinning, but Aziraphale notices that Crowley’s fingers are still tight around his hand, as though tensing for his reaction. “D’you like it?”

“I love it,” Aziraphale says, smiling. “Although one wonders…”

“What?”

“The inspiration for it,” he answers. “Would you care to tell me more?”

For a moment, Crowley frowns, thinking deeply. “I dunno. Honestly, I just hung the stars, you know? Didn’t really think about what the humans would think about them once they were there.”

“I’ve got a thought or two,” Aziraphale says airily.

“Oh?” Crowley turns to him, an eyebrow cocked. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale pretends to be thinking. “Or better yet… I could show you.”

He tackles Crowley mid-air, heedless of his own strength – Crowley lets out a squawk of surprise, flapping his wings helplessly, but they’re already tumbling head over heels together through the air, landing in the water with an enormous splash. 

\--

Crowley emerges, sputtering for breath. “Aziraphale! What the –”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says, laughing so hard he’s nearly breathless. “I didn’t –”

“You’re an _angel,_ what were you expecting?” Crowley demands, still coughing up water. He’s clinging to Aziraphale, his thin arms tight around Aziraphale’s neck. “D’you have any idea how bloody _strong_ you are?”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale stifles another laugh. He reaches forward, plucking a lily bud from where it’s gotten caught in a snarl of red hair as Crowley scrubs at his face with one hand in irritation. “I really am so terribly sorry. I suppose we’re even now, aren’t we?”

“Suppose we are,” Crowley says, pushing his hair away from his face. They’re so close together that Crowley can see the way Aziraphale’s pupils are dilated, the way his lips have parted slightly. “Angel,” he says tentatively, trying out the word in his mouth, wonders why it rolls so smoothly off his tongue, his voice shaping the sound of it with such affection. He didn’t know he was even capable of feeling like this until now, but he’s overflowing with it, and all he wants right now is to touch Aziraphale.

So he does. He reaches out, cups the angel’s face in his hands. His cheeks are flushed under Crowley’s touch. The water is pleasantly cool against Crowley’s skin, and Aziraphale’s face is so warm.

“Angel,” he says again. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. “Would you –”

“What is it? Tell me.” Crowley would give him anything. He’d tear the sky down and start the universe anew if this angel asked him to.

He feels Aziraphale’s hands settle on his waist, and his heart starts thudding hard in his chest. The heat is coursing through his body at Aziraphale’s touch, at the way Aziraphale’s gaze has drifted down to his lips – he wants, he _wants –_

Slowly, he pulls the angel closer, and for a moment, he rests their foreheads together before he leans forwards and presses his lips softly against Aziraphale’s. It starts out gentle, and the angel sighs against his mouth and wraps his arms around Crowley’s waist, pulling them flush together.

 _Oh._ Crowley’s throat goes dry at the sensation of Aziraphale’s body pressed against his, and all of a sudden, he wants to touch every single inch of the angel that he can, all soft curves and delicate skin, so unbearably lovely it makes Crowley’s chest ache. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, and his fingers trace a circle into the small of Crowley’s back. “Will you let me –”

“Yes,” Crowley says immediately, wanting nothing more than to let Aziraphale keep touching him. He’ll give the angel anything he asks. All of him, every jagged edge and sharp corner, if that was what Aziraphale wanted.

The angel tilts his face up and kisses Crowley again, and this time it’s slow and sweet as honey, Aziraphale’s tongue tracing slowly over the seam of his lips until they part, allowing the angel to lick his way into his mouth. It’s a curious feeling, hesitant at first, until Aziraphale’s fingers tangle themselves into his hair – Crowley makes a soft sound in his throat at the unexpected pleasure of it.

He breaks the kiss, pulls away for a moment to look at Aziraphale, his face lit softly by the moonlight – Crowley doesn’t know whether the sound in his ears is the endless flow of the waterfall, or the quickening rush of his own blood. The angel’s eyes are dark with want, his hand threading gently through Crowley’s curls.

“Crowley…” He whispers. “Would you make an Effort for me?”

“Yesss,” Crowley says, the word garbled in his mouth by the hiss that slips out, his tongue thick with his own want. He licks his lips, tries to sound more coherent. “What – what would you like me to wear?”

The angel’s hand traces over the line of Crowley’s jaw. “Whatever you want, my dear.”

Crowley shivers as the pads of Aziraphale’s fingers trace over his mouth, manifesting an Effort with the last of his concentration left –

“Oh,” the angel says with surprise. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“S’that all right?” Crowley asks, suddenly unsure.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale says, smiling at him so softly that Crowley feels as though he’s being flayed open. “You are so beautiful.” His hand comes up, fingertips brushing lightly over the crags of Crowley’s cheekbone. “May I touch you?”

Crowley can’t bear to look him in the eye – who is he, to be looked at like this by someone like Aziraphale? He nods, not trusting himself to speak, but Aziraphale’s hand comes up and cups his chin, guides his face towards his so their eyes meet.

“You are, you know,” Aziraphale breathes. “Magnificent, in fact.”

“Angel,” Crowley groans. His hands are trying to shove Aziraphale away, but he’s leaning into the warmth of Aziraphale’s fingers on his face. “You can’t just _say_ things like that –”

The angel laughs. “Believe me when I tell you I’ve always thought so.” He leans forward and kisses Crowley again, but now it’s heavy with intent, Aziraphale’s mouth warm and demanding against his own. He can hardly believe this is happening, and his fingers clutch inadvertently at Aziraphale’s arms as he pulls away, breathing hard.

“Angel –”

“What is it?”

Crowley shivers at the clear note of affection in Aziraphale’s voice, his hands rubbing Crowley’s sides soothingly. The things that are bubbling up inside of him are nearly incomprehensible, too immense. He doesn’t know if he’s capable of putting them into words. He doesn’t think he can tell Aziraphale he’s been dreaming of this moment for thousands of years. He never thought Aziraphale would ever even want to touch him like this, let alone – he gulps hard. Even the thought of it is making him lightheaded.

Perhaps something of his panic shows on his face, because Aziraphale presses a kiss lightly to the corner of his mouth. “Crowley,” he says quietly, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakeable. “Let me take care of you.”

The words make Crowley’s heart clench tightly. _He_ should be the one taking care of Aziraphale, not the other way around.

The angel’s brow furrows. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Had Crowley said that out loud? Bless it.

Aziraphale continues, completely undeterred. “If you’ll let me, dearest,” he says, and his fingers brush over a spot on Crowley’s spine that makes him tremble. “I would very much like to. Do say yes.”

“I…” Crowley doesn’t know what to say, but the angel’s eyes are wide and imploring, and he’s never been able to resist Aziraphale when he’s looking at Crowley like this. “Yes. Yes, angel,” he whispers. “Anything you like.”

“No,” Aziraphale says firmly. He takes Crowley’s hand and presses it over his heart. “What do _you_ want?”

Crowley stares fixedly at his hand on Aziraphale’s chest, mesmerised by the feel of Aziraphale’s heart beating under his palm. “You,” he says, the word slipping from his mouth before he can stop it. He wishes his voice hadn’t been so naked in its honesty, but it’s too late now.

“You have me, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. He twines their fingers together and lifts Crowley’s hand to his mouth. His lips linger on the back of Crowley’s hand. “Will you tell me what you like?”

It’s too much, all this talking business. Crowley doesn’t have words for the things Aziraphale is asking for, but he desperately wants to say something – an indistinct noise escapes his throat. Aziraphale touches Crowley’s lips gently with the pad of a finger, as though sensing his distress. “It’s all right, dearest,” he says softly. “Just let me see to you now, and you can tell me if there’s anything you don’t like. Will that do?”

The thought alone of being _seen to_ is going to make Crowley spontaneously combust, but he nods, submits to Aziraphale’s mouth against his. He shivers as Aziraphale’s lips trail heat down the line of his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. A soft moan tears itself from his throat when Aziraphale’s fingers travel up the inside of his thigh.

Aziraphale presses a kiss to the serpent’s mark on his face. “Is this good? Do you want me to keep going?” 

All of Crowley’s words have deserted him. He can only nod, his face buried in Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale hums in appreciation and continues his ministrations, leaving Crowley quivering with pleasure under his touch, his wings beating helplessly behind him.

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, pressing a kiss behind his ear. “Might I touch your wings?”

The request brings Crowley up short for a moment. Their wings were the only part of their metaphysical selves that manifested on this plane. No hands but his own had ever touched his wings before, a taboo of the highest order –

“Of course, I understand if you would rather not,” Aziraphale says, a hint of uncertainty entering his voice. “Oh, goodness. Do forgive me, that was terribly presumptuous, I –”

“No, no,” Crowley interrupts, his voice grating in his throat. He swallows hard. Aziraphale had asked him to say what he wanted, so he will. “I… I want you to.” He sinks obligingly against Aziraphale’s chest to give him easier access, and he only tenses a little when Aziraphale raises his hand tentatively.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, and he thinks he is, but the overwhelming pleasure that floods him at the first touch of Aziraphale’s hand against his wing is wholly unexpected. He shudders at the sensation of Aziraphale’s fingers carefully combing through his feathers, brushing against the skin beneath. Even if he could speak, there were no words for this. “Angel,” he whispers.

“Oh, Crowley. You… you can touch mine. If you like.”

Aziraphale lifts Crowley a little higher by the waist and stretches his wings wide, his feathers still glowing slightly in the darkness. Crowley places his hands on the angel’s shoulders and slides them down slowly, feeling the hard muscle rippling beneath the layer of softness.

“You really want me to –”

Aziraphale nods immediately, his eyes bright. Crowley’s fingers trail down further, and Aziraphale gasps sharply and throws his head back as they bury themselves in the soft down at the base of Aziraphale’s wings, the juncture where they connected to his shoulder blades.

“Oh, my dear,” he says, his voice thready with want. “That feels exquisite.” He opens his eyes and looks at Crowley, a soft smile blooming on his face, so affectionate that Crowley can hardly help but smile in return, his hands luxuriating in the softness of Aziraphale’s feathers. “Beautiful,” Aziraphale says again, a soft breath leaving his lips, his gaze never leaving Crowley’s face. “Crowley. You are so _beautiful.”_

If the angel looks at Crowley a second longer with those eyes of his, Crowley’s going to burn up with it. Fall a second time, even. “ _Please,_ ” he says, not knowing what he’s asking for, only knowing that if Aziraphale doesn’t touch him more, he may actually discorporate.

A sharp exhale leaves Crowley’s lips as Aziraphale obliges him, the water rippling around them as Aziraphale sinks into him, inch by inch, punching the breath right out of him, overcome with a pleasure he’s never known before. He lets the angel guide him, showing him how to move.

They rock together in tandem, slowly at first, then at a steady rhythm. Crowley’s wings flutter with ecstasy, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s wings. “Angel,” he whispers, helpless in Aziraphale’s arms, gasping with every movement.

Aziraphale reaches up to cup his face. “Crowley,” he murmurs. “How I’ve longed to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

Around them, the lilies are unfurling, buds opening themselves to the night sky, lightly scenting the air.

The angel only smiles in return, looking absolutely enchanted. Because of _him._

This must be some sort of dream, Crowley thinks to himself wildly, any second now he’s going to wake up and find Aziraphale gone – a rush of pleasure interrupts whatever coherent thought he was still capable of, and he lets out a moan, his face buried in Aziraphale’s neck.

“Just like this,” Aziraphale murmurs in his ear. “Let me see you, my dear.”

Crowley has to muffle an embarrassingly loud noise against the angel’s shoulder, shaking his head even as he clings to Aziraphale. “No, I can’t –”

“You can.” The angel presses a kiss to his temple.

With their chests pressed together like this, Crowley can feel the way Aziraphale is shivering, his breath coming unsteady and ragged, and the thought of Aziraphale coming apart because of _him_ makes him tremble with need, his hips undulating hard against Aziraphale’s of their own volition. “Angel –”

“I’ve got you. Let go, love,” Aziraphale says softly, and it’s this last word that pushes Crowley off the precipice as he cries out, trembling in Aziraphale’s embrace, riding out the blinding pleasure overcoming him in waves as Aziraphale shudders, his arms tightening around Crowley’s waist.

Crowley collapses against Aziraphale, trying to catch his breath. Somehow, tonight, the spring looks even more beautiful than he’s ever seen it – droplets on the lily pads shining like diamonds, the light of the moon bathing the flowers in silver, the stars glittering brightly in the water.

\--

Aziraphale cradles Crowley against him, letting one hand caress his neck, burying his fingers in the long curls. For a moment, they drift in the water, wrapped around each other. The world falls completely silent around them. In this in-between space, there is no one but the two of them.

“Thank you, my dear,” he says quietly.

Crowley looks up at him, his eyes golden to the edges. The soft smile he’d worn earlier is still playing around the corners of his mouth, though there’s a mischievous twist to it now. “So is that why you’ve been wearing an Effort these days? Been enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, then?”

“I-it’s only that –” Aziraphale stammers, but Crowley cuts him off with a kiss.

“No matter, angel,” Crowley says easily, combing his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “All to my benefit, isn’t it? Now I know what all the fuss is about.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes. “Have you… have you never before?”

“Nah. I mean, sure. There’ll be a temptation of that variety here and there, but I can pull it off without needing to do any touching, y’know? Let the humans do it themselves, and all that.”

“I see.” Aziraphale is shaken to the core. He had no idea. There are so many things he assumes about Crowley – where else might he have been wrong? If he had known, he would have tried to make it better for Crowley. Maybe he should have been gentler. He should have taken more time. He could have shown Crowley how much pleasure could be found in every inch of his body – Aziraphale would have wanted nothing more than to indulge his every whim, to see him cresting again and again before falling safely into Aziraphale’s arms.

His fingers trail lightly down the sensitive skin of Crowley’s back between his wings, and Crowley shivers against him. “Well, then,” Aziraphale says at last, trying to keep his voice steady. “It was an honour to have introduced you to… the pleasures of the flesh.”

A soft sigh gusts across the skin of Aziraphale’s neck, and he feels Crowley’s fingertips tracing around his lips, travelling down to the layer of hair that covers his chest. “Angel,” Crowley murmurs. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

He smiles and kisses the head of red hair lying against his shoulder. “You know I would want nothing more.”

“So why don’t you?” Crowley pushes himself upright to look Aziraphale in the eye, his gaze beseeching.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale leans into the hand that reaches forward to cup his face, long fingers brushing his cheek. He turns his head, pressing a kiss against Crowley’s palm. “You know I can’t do that. We mustn’t.”

To Aziraphale’s dismay, Crowley’s face darkens, the corners of his mouth slipping into sadness. “Then tell me, angel. Why exactly did you come here?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale begins, his voice already pleading – but it’s too late, Crowley is closing himself off, pulling his hand from Aziraphale’s face.

“Answer me,” Crowley says, but the harshness of his tone is belied by the hurt look in his golden eyes. “Why are you here?”

The world is falling apart around Aziraphale’s ears. The light from the moon is losing its lustre, lily petals falling limp and dropping one by one from their stems, the rush of the waterfall so loud that it borders on painful. “Heaven sent me,” he whispers. “I have to,” he swallows hard, “I have to bless the spring.”

“You…” Crowley is staring at him, eyes wide and unblinking, breath coming shallow and fast. “You _what?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [RainingPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince) for being such a wonderful beta for this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Come find us on our social media!  
> hollow-head on [Tumblr](https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/taraleblara)  
> hanap on [Tumblr](https://contraststudies.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/contraststudies)


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